The Discontent Princess
by Pimpernel Princess
Summary: What is seen is not usually all that a person is. What is told is not all of a person's thoughts. Even a princess can have her problems while she sets out to solve them.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Angst. It's a one-shot, at least until the Princess is able to find her answer (aka. not necessarily autobiographic). Review if you like, but please read my other works. They're better, I promise.**

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Yes, the Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara was rather pretty and sharply intelligent. Her fingers were always busy: knitting and crocheting, and tatting, and when she played, her fingers fairly flew across the harp. She was skilled at calligraphy, sketching, painting, and could make the most cunning little things out of folded paper. All day long the Princess worked at her handicrafts, but not only were her hands busy: her mind was always occupied. The Princess was a voracious reader—histories, myths, legends, treatises on law and philosophy and anything else that she was able to lay her busy little hands upon.

The Princess had a circle of ladies-in-waiting and was in the center of every party. Although she had never solicited them, she had had several sincere offers of marriage by the time that she had turned seventeen. The Princess bided her time, never granting her particular favor on any particular gentlemen for she had not found any who held her heart.

There was little that held her heart, except her family and her God. And even they felt distant from her. Even her country held little charm for her—the Princess longed to travel and to see what the world held for her. She wished for a virtuous foreign prince who would sing as she played her harp.

Every night as she sat at her vanity brushing and braiding her hair, she prayed for a future or a change. She knew that there was something missing, some emotion that she was unable to feel. The Princess never would tell this to anyone; as chatty as she was about her thoughts, this no one ever knew. For even if they did know, what was there to be done with a discontent Princess?

Sometimes, as she smiled kindly at one admirer or another, she wondered in her heart of hearts if her soul was made of ice. Perhaps she was not meant to feel emotions like contentment or passion at all. Perhaps she was not meant to _love_. It was all in her intellect—the Princess knew many things. She knew what she believed. But she did not, could not feel these things. And until she did, she knew that she could never be whole and content just to _be_.

The Princess grew to hate her surroundings; every day she was reminded of how trapped she was and how much her emotions needed to grow. In time, the Princess let herself become complacent. Her best became poorer, her hands less busy. She let her mind wander and her thoughts become lazy.

One night, while the Princess was brushing her hair, she noticed in the mirror that tears were streaming down her face. Was she crying? Yes, they were tears. She threw down the hairbrush; the handle snapped off. The Princess was sobbing now, trying to thaw the ice in her soul.

As suddenly as her crying began, it stopped. The Princess loathed herself for crying over nothing, but perhaps it was a start. Her crying felt. And it felt real—not the brave sparkling show that she gave to the world. But now what was to be done?

The answer came to her: the Princess would go on a journey that summer. Alone. She would set off on Midsummer's Day at Midnight. How long she would be gone she was not certain. But Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara at least had the courage to start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Yes, this is short. This story is coming out as a series of one-shot chapters connected by a common narrative. This chapter is dedicated to Baroness Orc, who encouraged me to write a send one. Thank you m'dear! And if you liked it _at all_, or even disliked it, or felt it was horribly written, please review!

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And so, the end of an era began. The Princess's younger sister wished to marry. The only problem that this held, however, was that siblings must marry in order of age. Her sister could not marry until the Princess did. When the Princess was told the news, she sighed, hoping that her sister was willing to have a long engagement. Her sister wasn't willing. And so, in order not to lose the love of her favorite, closest-to-understanding sister, the Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara began to consider her suitors.

At the next ball, the Princess began to silently assess the available men in the room behind her iron smile as she danced with them, flirted and were frivolous. No, the dramatic, flamboyant Prince Diglas would not understand her need for more than the superficial, day-by-days; he could not understand that searing search for the deeper things in life. Nor would Duke Stamley, pursuer of anything in skirts; the Princess was firm on one thing that she wanted from a man: fidelity. Not even young King Bibliothekos, whose literary skills far outshone his social ones; he may have understood the soul's journeys through life, but he was not a lover or a friend or even a ruler. These men would not understand her need to break free of the brave, sparkling show that the Princess presented. The Princess sighed; every man she saw strengthened her resolve to take her escape from them and from her life, brief though it would probably be.

Soon enough, all of the Princess' companions wished to marry. As if in unspoken consensus, one by one, they each deserted her for their own betrothed. The first to actually marry was the Princess's favorite cousin. Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara cried during the wedding. Everyone assumed that the tears were of joy for her cousin's good fortune and future happiness. Only the Princess knew that her tears were tears of mourning, of childhood, of confidences, of freedom. She would have to become a woman and marry, but the Princess was going to employ her last days of autonomy first. Midsummer's Day was fast approaching, thank goodness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:** Another huge thank you to the lovely and talented **Baroness Orc** for reviewing and for providing more impetuous for this fic. My Jackernackey (aka. my very elusive, wild, and lazy muse) is again on the prowl. Review, if you like!

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Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara was making her escape. Earlier that day, she had gone through the castle collecting things that she thought she may need for her journey: hairpins, needle, shears and thread, a waterskin, some sweetmeats, bread, and cheese, a warm felt cloak, an iron pen, a short knife, and a spare pair of stockings. The Princess had no idea how long she was to be gone, but she felt that she was prepared enough for her journey. The Princess had also stolen some peasant clothes from the kitchen maid's dormitory. When questioned about why she happened to be sneaking about, holding clothes that were not her own, the Princess airily replied that she was readying some great prank. The Princess did enjoy her jokes now and again. She had snuck away from the brilliant Mid-summer's ball and had changed from her diamond-studded dress into the blouse and kirtle of a peasant. Now, sneaking through the library, the Princess was preparing her greatest trick of all.

The Princess walked between the shelves of books, not betraying herself by allowing a single glance at the beloved titles that were close enough to touch. Finally, at the end of the aisle, was the Book of Law. In various ornate hands and scripts were copied out all of the laws of her country. It stood open on a table that was nearly as large as the book itself. For the first time on her journey, the Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara allowed herself a tear. She remembered on her fifth birthday when her parents had first showed her the massive book and had told her what it meant. They had showed how her name was written inside in a massive flourish of golden ink. Her father had told her that she was a Princess and that she had the duty to her country to follow all of its laws contained inside the book. She loved her parents, even though they could not understand her longing towards the horizon. Now the Princess realized her duties: her duty for herself to leave, but her duty for her country to come back when her first duty was done. She was a princess, and would forever remain so.

The Princess took one last glimpse around the library. Sometimes she had loved the books more than she had loved the people around her. The books never put on facades, their meanings were hidden, yes, but the Princess could always manage to find them and mostly to understand them. The Princess caressed the page of the Book of Law; she would have to say goodbye to it, instead of to her parents. Blowing a kiss and wiping her tears, the Princess opened the window casement and climbed down the trellis to the ground. Heaving her little pack onto her back and adjusting a stray hairpin, the Princess started out at last. The bells in the tower struck twelve. It was Midsummer's Day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Another huge thank you to **Baroness Orc** for all of the reviews. Here we see the Princess finally gets to her first adventure and there's even (drumroll please) _dialogue_!

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Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara walked for the rest of the night, her heart light and free. She could run to whatever she pleased, unbound from her royal birth. Freedom was more beautiful than a palace, or dresses, or jewels, or even a library.

As the sun rose, the Princess stopped for a drink at a nearby stream. As she stooped to drink, she saw her reflection in the water and gasped. She looked enough like a commoner, except for her hair. Her long, luxurious hair was still bound up with golden curlicues and sapphire stars. The Princess took them all out, one by one, and put them into her pack and bound her long, mahogany hair into a kerchief. Too long to hide, her hair swung out behind her like a tail.

The Princess walked along the creek, searching for a place to cross that wasn't so deep for she wished to remain dry. She heard crying nearby, a small, shrill lament.

"Hello?" She called. "Are you in need of help?"

"Yes," the voice replied. "I'm down here." The Princess looked down to find a tiny grey mouse by her feet. The Princess fell to her knees next to the mouse, who jumped onto her hand.

"Dry your tears, friend," the Princess said gently. "What is troubling you?"

"My mother," the mouse sniffed. "My mother is sick—and may be dying—and I have no way to cross the river and go to her."

"I shall aid you then," the Princess said, "if you climb onto my shoulder and hang on while I try to cross."

The Princess stripped off her stockings and shoes and waded through the stream, a mouse on her shoulder. The cool water soothed her feet, tender from their journey. Once across the stream, the Princess set down her charge and slipped on her stockings and shoes.

"Thank you," the mouse squeaked, "thank you, Princess."

"You are most wel—how did you know I was a princess?"

"Only true princesses carry mice on their shoulders, and not hidden away in their bundles or bags, your highness."

"And how do you know this, little friend? Do princesses carry mice across streams often in this country?"

"No, but it is in all of our legends, your highness. Only the kindest Princesses, or the girls who later become the princesses, stop to give aid to mice in such a manner."

"Thank you," the Princess said, confused as to the answering of such a complement.

"I had best get to my mother's," the mouse said, "but thank you for helping me at the crossing." He bowed graciously. "You now have the allegiance of all mice in this country for your act of kindness. You need but say 'Mice, I the Princess am lost' or 'Mice, I the Princess needs shelter' and your needs shall be met by me and my folk."

"Thank you, my friend," the Princess said, making a little curtsey back to him. "May you find your mother well."

"Farewell, your highness," the mouse said, then disappeared into the flowers along the path.

"Farewell," the Princess called after him. She started to walk, free on the open road.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Is it really the 5th chapter already? Ah well, it's good therapy for me. ;) I'm digging deep and all that. Eat your heart out. A big thanks to **Baroness Orc**, too.

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Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara walked for a fortnight; she had not yet seen the need to call upon the mice for aid, although she had spent a miserable night at the bottom of a ravine during a thunderstorm of apocalyptic proportions. The Princess had come so far that the terrain was changed: the gently rolling hills of her country had graciously given way to land that was flat as the day was long. The land had changed more quickly than the Princess had expected. She had no map, but she was suspicious that the places where she had fallen asleep were not the exact places where she had awoken. Perhaps she was simply a fast walker.

On the Princess's fifteenth day of walking, she found herself at the foot of a range of mountains—small mountains, but mountains nonetheless, covered in plants and hardwood trees. Having scaled the first mountain, the Princess stopped for the night. When she woke the next morning, the Princess was not quite sure if the mountain was the same as she had stopped on yesterday, but it was a mountain all the same. It was the day of the Lord; the Princess wished desperately for Mass, but worshipped as best she could, telling her beads in the silence of the mountain, and then rested, watching the mist gavotte over the lake in the vale nearby. Even as the mist drifted, little feathers suspended above the lake, the Princess felt her soul refreshed and revived by its beauty. Tomorrow, she would visit the lake, the Princess thought, scanning it with longing hungry eyes. How she wanted to feel its cool water splash against her road-dusted skin, to prove that it was real, not a conjuring of imagination. Tomorrow, that is what she would do.

~*~

The next morning, the Princess rose, stretching her cramped muscles, still too used to her pampered mattress at home, and journeyed down the mountain and through the valley to the lake. She reached it at noon, then broke her fast with berries from the bushes nearby. On a sudden inspiration, the Princess stripped off her shoes and stockings and leapt into the shallows; the water was crisp, clear, and _alive_. Finally, unable to resist, the Princess slipped off her outer garments and doused the rest of herself in the water, while keeping an eagle's eye trained upon her garments where they lay on the riverbank (she had read far too many tales about foolish bathing maidens and their mistakes.)

No sooner had the Princess finished washing her long, coppery hair, and scrubbing her calloused feet with sand, she heard men shouting and the flapping of wings from somewhere in the bushes. Not missing a beat, the Princess sprang from the water and immersed herself in her long, red kerchief, silently cursing her wet chemise.

A swan soared from the bushes an arm's length from where the Princess stood followed by two hunters, firing with their muskets. One shot hit home. The swan fell, neck and wings arching out over the water. Scarlet blood poured from its breast as it hit the surface and drifted toward the humans.

"Stop!" the Princess shrieked. "You've killed it!"

The two men noticed her for the first time, staring at her, dumbfounded. Then they bolted.

The Princess stared after them for a moment, then remembering herself, rushed to the swan, taking it in her arms.

"Princess," the Swan gasped, deep and throaty.

"How did you know I was a Princess?" she said, rather taken aback.

"It matters not. And it was fairly obvious," the Swan chuckled.

"Oh," the Princess sighed sheepishly. "Wait, you bleed, friend. Lie still and I will try to give you aid."

"There is no aid on earth that may save me now, Princess," the Swan said, without fear or bitterness. "Now I must sing my song. Remember it, for the first and last song of a swan is full of magic. Remember it when you have lost hope, my Princess, for it will aid you in dark hours. It is what I can give you in exchange for a peaceful death. Remember it—promise me!" the Swan added desperately.

"I promise," the Princess managed to say around the lump that was forming in her throat.

The swan began to sing: a minor song, a haunting song. A song that ran along a scale that the Princess had never heard. The song detached the fear from the Princess's heart and led into a major song, a joyous song that proclaimed that there was nothing to fear, all this without words. It rose to a rousing climax, but the swan died on the penultimate note. The unresolved note hung in the mist that still shielded the lake from the sun.

Through her tears, the Princess rose to her feet in the shallow, bloody water and sang the last note for her dead friend. And there once again was hope in her heart.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** First off, I would like to thank the charming Baroness Orc for reviewing. :D Enjoy reading my therapy-fic!

**Disclaimer: **I've had to change the rating because of this chapter. Hopefully T will be appropriate. I promise, it's nothing too intense--less intense than the average PG-13 movie. Just for safety...

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After crying until no more tears would come in mourning for her friend, the Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara rose from where she had collapsed near the edge of the lake. Her chemise would be forever stained from where the swan's ruby blood had run out onto it. Little did it matter; the Princess pulled on her other clothes. It was time to be moving: action, not grief, although the mourning sky had darkened into a dome of seamless grey storm clouds. Mist rolled into the valley, an army descending upon the fold.

Shivering, the Princess began on her way, moving through the silver screen of fog that hid the lake from her. The Princess had stumbled onto a path leading from the lake: it would be as good to take as any. She had no destination; her singular goal was to wander as far from her home as possible. Going back was inconceivable. If she went back, the Princess would either be disgraced or married to the first available man her parents would clap eyes upon. No, the Princess continued on, not expecting much, but hoping for something—anything interesting to happen. She was free, but at the expense of any goals or plans she may have held. Not that she had had many before she had left. But still, something was nagging at her—a peculiar pull in her heart; a certain longing and sighing. What it was, she could not fathom. She doubted that she actually wanted to know. She would ignore it, for now, while she was yet free.

The Princess walked carefully down the path—the fog had settled into the valley, hemming her in. Soon enough, the Princess could hardly see her hand in front of her face. Considering that the Princess's eyesight wasn't quite what it should have been, this was rather alarming. The Princess continued through the blinding whiteness, trying to keep moving. She would love to have rested, but she could see nowhere to rest, and so continued down the path.

The first thing that the Princess saw was a man—no, two men—standing in the path ahead of her, silhouettes in the mist. Terror clutching the pit of her stomach, the Princess guessed that these two men were the ones who had shot her friend the swan. Biting her lip, the Princess began to slyly backtrack along the path—perhaps the men hadn't seen her.

"Where are you going, Princess?" One of the men sneered, swaggering forward.

"N-no where," The Princess replied, unable to keep the stutter from her voice. She backed away faster. Her foot caught on a rock and the Princess toppled backwards with a little cry. Her makeshift pack slipped off of her back and onto the ground, its contents strewn on the ground. The Princess gave a little cry. Now the men would realize that she actually possessed things to rob from her. The second man immediately began to gather the Princess's golden hairpins, sniggering.

"Well, well, my beauty," the first man said hungrily, "what have we here?" He coldly looked the Princess up and down as she struggled to her feet—she kept tripping on her skirt. "Let me help you," he demanded, grabbing her upper arm and yanking her to her feet.

Horrified, the Princess tried to pull away from him, but this only caused the man to clamp even more tightly to her arm and to pull her even more closely to his revoltingly putrid chest. His breath, coming from a mouth inches from her own, was laced with liquor.

"I-I will cut you a deal," the Princess said stalwartly. "I will give you my gold, in exchange for being left…unharmed."

The two men exchanged skeptical glances. "Now where's the fun in that?" the second man leered.

"I have an idea…" the first man said, with mock seriousness. "Why don't we just take it?" He laughed sardonically. "There's nothing you can do to stop us, love. We're the ones holding all the cards."

_Perhaps not all of them_, the Princess dared to let the thought flash across her mind. "Mice?" the Princess squeaked, "Mice! Can you help me?" Remembering her manners, she added, "Please?"

Both men burst out laughing. "What are you doing? Calling your wee mousie friends? Ha—like they can help you!"

The Princess burst into tears—these men were right, no one would come to save her. Had the mouse been just a daydream brought on by a lack of regular meals? Everyone knew that mice couldn't speak—and that they cared not a whit for their mothers, even their dying mothers. Doubt changed the Princess's heart into iron tempered with cynicism and cooled by the icy water of a miserable fate. Still, she was not a lamb to be led to the slaughter without a fight. The Princess, drawing from the ice within her, scratched and clawed the man who held her, tried to kick any spot that might be vulnerable.

With the rush of her resistance, thoughts flashed through her brain. For the first time since leaving, the Princess wished, desperately wished, that she was home. Fed, clean, pretty, comfortable, safe. As she struggled, a pheasant caught in the net of the fowler, a rabbit in a snare, young and foolish, tumbling headlong into her own trap. And this was how it was to end, in death and in shame.

For a second, the Princess managed to break free, but after a tantalizing moment of freedom, the man's hand clamped again around her arm, an iron trap, a steel vise. He blocked her with his other arm, her back pressed against his acrid chest. Her stomach churned, foretelling her doom. Unadulterated fear coursed through her veins, replacing their usual contents of lukewarm blood.

With incomprehensible shouts, clashing nonsensical noise, more shapes were formed around them in the mist. Perhaps the Princess could escape from one man, probably not two, but against such a multitude, she was hopeless. Her knees were about to give out, her feet numb.

The Princess blinked, mind surprisingly distant from the terror in which her body was engulfed. A plan—a suprise. With all her strength and sleight weight, the Princess dropped like a stone. Something caught her eye as she jolted to the ground. Instinctively, her finger wrapped around its long, narrow form. The Princess stabbed, hacked, slashed, at the hand still around her arm; the man had not released her completely when she had fallen.

The Princess heard the sickening tear of skin and felt iron blood rush onto her hand. She had made her mark and was now liberated. A cry of rage and blow to the stomach followed, knocking her flat. A few seconds panting, then the Princess tried to scramble up, tripped on her skirts, then sprinted for all she was worth. A cry from the first man turned her head for a split second, long enough for her to barrel into one of the men who had materialized out of the mist, bowling them both over.

"Stop!" the Princess cried, as this man's mammoth hands capped her shoulders, to prevent escape and resistance.

Iron stick still in her hand, the Princess slashed at the confining hands of the man who held her from behind. She made contact—fabric tore and blood dribbled across her hands.

"Enough of that!" he said gruffly, twisting her arm behind her back. Both of her hands were now empty. "Halt now—do not struggle." The man whispered his command into her ear.

The Princess did as she was told—there was nothing left within her. The mist still clouded the events around her. There were shouts in the distance, then nothing. The Princess's arm was still twisted behind her back, but this man was gentler. His breath lacked liquor; he smelled like sweat, smoke and soap. His hands were covered by leather gloves as soft as silk, even as his fingers fettered her wrists.

The mist cleared, as suddenly as it had come. From where the Princess was restrained, she could now see what had taken place. The first two men who had attempted to rob her had scuffled with the other men. This second group of men was now binding the bandits together. The Princess's stomach turned—would that be her fate as well? She had such lovely wrists; it would be a shame to ruin them with the rough rope.

With a sharp bark of "Move!" from her current captor, the Princess was marched toward the group. They turned to stare at her, all the same: well-made clothes of green, brown, and grey; long bows, knives, quivers; a few day's worth of beard clinging to each chin.

Their leader was effortless to identify—his short cloak was clasped with a gold pin and he stood apart from the others. He ran his fingers though his hair—beard and curls the color of the sun shining through a jar of honey. His eyes, blue knives, locked onto hers. He took a courtly step forward, almost as befits a king.

"Gunter," he addressed the man restraining the Princess, "who does this cat hap to be?" The leader's accent could be cut with a knife: his _ah's_ were bright, his _w's_ more akin to _v's_.

"I know not, my lord, but she has a long claw," Gunter replied lightly. With a flick of his wrist, he sent something flying toward the leader. A flash of metal in the now-sunlight, and the leader caught it, holding it up for all to see.

"A pen made of iron?" The leader said, incredulous, amused. "Now it is clear—this little cat must surely be a little minx. She has proven the age-old saying to be true: the pen is indeed mightier than the sword…"

The men chuckled, but the Princess could only stare at the iron pen, now covered with the blood of the robber and perhaps that of Gunter. She wanted to laugh along at the irony, but all she could do was stare at the blood that had dried on the pen. Her stomach turned. It was human blood—blood _she_ had shed.

"You may release her," the leader said, gesturing to Gunter. "But this I shall keep," he wiped the pen on the hem of his tunic then tucked it into his belt. "She can do no harm without it, I think."

Gunter released her arms—the Princess did not realize how much she had been depending on him for support until she could no longer rely on it. Her knees gave out, she pitched forward, and the Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara crumpled to a heap on the ground.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** A special thank you to **Baroness Orc** and **Lady Thorne** for their kind words. Without them, my story would be going in a completely different direction, but I like this one better. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and have a wonderful New Year!

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The Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara was lifted onto a waiting horse. Gunter slung himself up behind her as the band set off. The jostling of the horse was painful, but after her morning, she didn't care. She would have fainted without Gunter's strong arms supporting her from behind. She leaned against him unabashed, not wanting to swoon and topple off the horse. Yes, resting against Gunter was definitely the lesser evil of the two. After all, from what the Princess had managed to hear, they were in for an hour of hard riding.

Most of the ride was spent with the Princess either squeezing her eyes shut, trying to keep the world from spinning around her, or gazing at the horse's neck. It was a well-groomed chestnut with a thick mane, neatly trimmed. Gunter's gloved hands, resting on the horse's neck, were also within her line of sight. His hand had stopped bleeding, from where she had wounded him with her iron pen, but his glove was still torn. They had been a very nice pair of gloves; black, supple leather, well-fitted. Now the world was spinning again, but there wasn't time for that: they had arrived back at the chalet.

Hidden among the trees, the chalet was built of wood and taupe plaster with great, carved eaves to shelter the doorway on the front of the building. The Princess examined it groggily as the men began to dismount and to lead their horses along a path to the stable.

After the leader handed his horse over to one of his band, he sauntered over to Gunter's horse. Once Gunter had swung off of the horse's back, it was the Princess's turn. She settled for a dignified slide to the ground, not wanting to collapse again. Before she reached the ground, however, the leader of the group grasped her waist, slowed her descent and swung her out of the horse's way.

"Oh," the Princess said, startled. "Why, thank you."

"The pleasure belongs to me, milady," the leader said, not releasing his hands from her waist. He helped her through the door of the chalet.

The main room was spacious but compact; on the three walls opposite the door were red brick fireplaces. Every spare inch of wall was put to use, either in shelving or bunked beds. Near the door were stairs leading to a second floor. The room was dark, smoky from the fireplaces and lack of many windows.

With the leader's help (and he did have such strong arms!) the Princess managed to sit on the steps before she collapsed again. Funny, she had been fine until that morning. But now she felt sick to her stomach: whether from her lack of food or the morning's events, she wasn't sure.

"Some stew, for the lady," the leader said. The group of more than a dozen men was bustling around, some coming in and out the door, others tending to the fires and still others preparing a meal. One of them did a funny salute-nod and began to heat some stew. It was obvious from all of the bustle that the men had not planned to come back to the chalet in time for a midday meal.

"Upstairs, I think, you shall find better rest," the leader said, still at the Princess's side. "May I?" He swept the Princess into his arms.

"Oh, er, thank you," the Princess said graciously as he carried her up the stairs.

"It is no trial, my lady," he replied gallantly. "Not a trial at all."

The loft, half the size of the room below it, was separated into two rooms. The room that they had entered contained a table surrounded by six chairs, with a heavy wooden cabinet lining one of the walls for storage. Another door opened into the room beyond.

The leader set her deftly into the chair and seated himself in another. There was a terribly long, awkward pause. The Princess was horribly aware that they were alone in the room, even though this man made no move toward her.

"In the wilderness here, what are you doing, my lady?" The leader asked, an amused smile in his steel-blue eyes.

"I have gone out to seek my fortune," the Princess answered evenly, tempering the caution in her tone with a hint of sweetness she did not feel. She still did not know whether these men were better than the bandits. With the thought of what fate she had barely escaped, she shuddered.

"Ach, I see. And good fortune it was, for us to come upon you while you were set upon by bandits. But here is Gunter with the soup," the leader said as Gunter came into the room carrying an ancient pewter tureen filled to the brim with steaming stew.

The Princess's stomach rumbled; suddenly she was ravenous. The soup smelled delicious, of leeks and carrots and some type of meat, probably fresh game. Gunter set the tureen on the table, then fetched three bowls, spoons, and goblets from the enormous cabinet.

"Thank you, Gunter," the Princess said gratefully, as he set a bowl of stew in front of her. Gunter sat at his place setting and the leader began to eat. The Princess and Gunter followed suit, with the slight girl tucking into the stew, albeit politely. She had three bowls, washing it down with cool, clear water. Once everyone was finished, Gunter gave the dishes to a man who was waiting at the top of the stairs.

"Gunter is my valet," the leader said offhandedly, even though Gunter was still in the room. "He is a distant relation…What would your name be, little fortune seeker?"

"My name?" The Princess answered, nervously trying to think of a plausible one. Christianna? No, her own name would not do. Ardelia, Rosaria, Cecilia, Elfenara? No, still too close. She would not use any of her given names, preferring to leave them at her home. She was someone different here. And she did not want to be known as royal. Her parents would come for her immediately and that would be the end of her adventure. It was not wise to lie to a person in authority as this man clearly was. "It is better for me to be known as Cat," the Princess said timidly, "for this is the name under which I am to seek my fortune."

"Your honesty becomes you, my lady Cat," the leader said forthrightly.

"And what is your name, sir?" The Princess fired back, still sweet and smiling, although her brain had turned to jelly. Her soup-filled stomach clenched and turned wildly. The Princess tried to breathe, still waiting for an answer.

"My name?" the leader blinked. "I am Prince Leopoldt of Danuvia, at the service of you and your family."

"Oh dear," the Princess said, rising to her feet despite her anxiety, "I have been horribly rude to you." She dropped into her deepest curtsey. "Please accept my apologies, your highness."

"Apologies accepted," Prince Leopoldt said kindly. "For a country maid, your manners are very fine," he said under his breath, eyeing her skeptically.

"Thank you, sir," the Princess replied demurely; something still was not right. She was acting like herself—a Princess, but what was the harm in that? Surely no one would find out who she truly was. And she was nervous—the morning's events combined with hunger and exhaustion had mentally disarmed her.

"Would you care to spend the afternoon at rest? You look to be very weary," Prince Leopoldt said gently.

The Princess nodded, emotionally spent. "Yes, I would like that."

"You may make use of the next room, then," Prince Leopoldt said, gesturing to the door that led into the loft's other room. "No one shall disturb you in there—you shall be safe. If you have any needs, speak to one of my men and they shall assist you. _Adieu_, fair Cat," Prince Leopoldt kissed her hand, from a respectful distance, "Rest well."

Waiting until after he departed down the stairs, the Princess entered the second room in the loft. Small but homey, it contained little furniture: a bed covered in sheets and a blanket, a chair on which was set a pack full of clothing and gear, and a small table on which sat a lamp. There was a small window set near the ceiling. The Princess opened it to combat the stale odor of the room, which was obviously little-used.

It was so quiet—not like being out of doors with the birds and the wind and the animals. But quiet was nice. The Princess yawned as she sat down on the bed. Before she knew it, she was curled up on the bed, fast asleep, not even bothering to remove her turf-covered shoes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much to all who reviewed: **Backroads, Lady Thorne**, and** Baroness Orc**. I truly appreciate it! I changed the Prince's name to Leopoldt instead of Gerhardt, because two "G" names may get a little confusing. I also did some minor revision work on the last chapter. The song Gunter sings here is my version of the Scottish ballad "The Lochmaben Harper." Enjoy!

* * *

The Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara slept soundly, although with very strange dreams. Water ran through the floor of the chateau: the whole building was built around a stream; little bridges crossed it charmingly. The Princess stepped over the bridge, following the water to the opposite side of the room. The Princess threw open the shutters in order to see where the water went after it left the house. The stream grew larger, trickling down the slope into the lake where her friend the swan had died that morning.

Something rustled behind her. The Princess whirled around to find Gunter and the Prince close by. She breathed a sigh of relief, glad to see familiar faces; still, something wasn't right.

"Look again, Princess," Gunter urged, his voice dark and foreboding. The Princess obediently turned back to the window. With a gasp, the Princess stared out over the lake; an island had appeared in the middle of it. This island was covered in sad, shabby houses that had once been painted bright, cheerful colors. Between the houses had grown a cotillion of trees, twisted branches aching for the grey sky above. But the worst part of the island was the stillness—nothing moved. No animals, no people, no wind, just houses, trees and eerie sky.

"You have had enough, I think," Prince Leopoldt said suddenly, taking her arm. "Come with me now." His arm was searing hot around hers, but the Princess followed him across the chateau. Gunter remained motionless, eyes boring into the stream below him. The Princess glanced back at him; for a moment, their gazes met, just in time for the Princess to slip out of her dream.

~*~

The Princess woke, eyes opening to the late afternoon shadows that slanted inside through the open window. The Princess tried to remember her dream, but the details were slipping away, a handful of sand. One detail remained, seared into her brain: her last glance at Gunter. There had been betrayal and sorrow burning behind his nut-brown eyes. What had happened to cause such grief? The Princess's pragmatic half scolded her—it was only a dream. The Princess tried to shrug out of it the way one shrugs out of an oversized cloak, but still the image remained.

The Princess sighed, stretched, and tried to smooth the wrinkles from her dress and hair. The other upstairs room was deserted, so the Princess clattered down the stairs. The downstairs of the chateau was also abandoned. It was a lovely evening; the men must be outside. The Princess exited the building to find a bevy of men, surrounding a lively cook-fire.

Every man in the general vicinity immediately stopped what they were doing to stare at her. Withering a little under their gaze, the Princess was desperately tempted to go back inside.

"Igor," Gunter said to a man nearby, breaking the silence, "Is the pheasant prepared?"

The man's answer was lost in a blaze of activity. Each man went back to his task on hand, preparing food, oiling tack, cleaning swords and dishes. Prince Leopoldt strode across the room, striding between the bustling men.

"Good evening, Lady Cat," Prince Leopoldt said easily. "You have come down in right time for supper."

As if on cue, a tall, skinny man bearing a plate full of food approached.

"This is Igor," Prince Leopoldt introduced, "our most talented cook."

"Good Lady," Igor said in a rumbling bass that belied his pole-like frame and shock of corn-colored hair, "I can only hope that you are hungry."

"I am," the Princess said eagerly. "Thank you, Igor."

The Princess examined her plate, waiting for the rest of the men to be served. Only years of governesses hammering good manners into her younger, more impressionable self kept her from devouring the pheasant cooked in a creamy sauce flavored with onions and a side of fresh bread. After the dozen other men, Gunter, Igor, and Prince Leopoldt were served, the Prince began to eat. Everyone else followed suit, tucking into the glorious food.

Once the meal was over, everyone but the Prince and the Princess cleared and cleaned the dishes. A man brought the Prince a small lap harp, which the Prince tuned and began to play. The music was simple but spritely—pleasant enough, but hardly a show of virtuosity.

"Do you play?" the Prince asked courteously.

"Oh yes," the Princess said, with a longing gaze at the strings. It had been so long since she had heard any music, with the exception of the swan-song that morning.

"Then shall I surrender my instrument to one who is fairer than I?"

"Oh, thank you," the Princess said, blushing a little at the blantant complement while receiving the instrument gingerly. She stroked the strings reverently before she began to play. With a simple melody she began, embellishing it each time she played: changing the rhythms, adding trills, eventually making the melody a plethora of running notes.

On the penultimate note of the song, the Princess looked up, to realize that, again, all of the men were watching her. Her hands faltered for a moment, before she clumsily strummed a final chord. The Princess immediately passed the instrument back to Prince Leopoldt, blushing immensely. She had just wanted to play, not be watched by everyone in the room.

"Here, you may have this back now," the Princess said thickly.

"You have a talent, Lady Cat," the Prince said solemnly. "Would you, this once," he said gently, offering the instrument again, "honor us with another song? We have not had such fine entertainment here for quite an age."

Summoning her courage as well as her breath, for she needed to give some payment for the Prince's hospitality, the Princess took the lap harp back. She began simple song with melancholy chords—the first one she had thought of. Somehow, it reminded her of her dream and of Gunter's troubled face.

"_The leaves flow by the nevermore_," the Princess warbled. After drawing a thick breath, her voice steadied. "_Floating to the yonder shore. I watch the water as it goes, reaching for the far-off rose_."

She glanced up at the end of her song only to see Gunter's face in a distant frown. Puzzled, she stared at him until he met her eyes, then looked back down at the lap harp. Her dream should not be mixed with reality. But something still nagged at the back of her mind. When the Prince spoke, the thought was banished.

"Thank you, Lady Cat, for your lovely song," the Prince smiled, a charming twinkle in his blue-steel eyes. "Now men, with more music let us fill the night."

A fife, a finger harp, and a set of pan-pipes were whisked out. The twilit woods were a lovely setting for the evening of reel and ballad that followed. The Princess was content to listen to the songs men took turn singing, some witty, some sad. Gunter even was persuaded by the men to get up and sing.

"As you all have been insisting that I sing," Gunter said, rising reluctantly to his feet, "I have a new song for all of you: The Blind Harper."

"_Around the land blind Harp would go_," Gunter began in a fine, clear baritone.

"_Through the wind and rain and snow,_

_Played the harp and fiddle and bow,_

_For the winter, he came home._

_His horse you see had had a foal,_

_Black as iron, dark as coal,_

_And his wife brought forth a soul,_

_His new born child hungry._

_At the tavern made a bet,_

_The king's stallion he would get,_

_And would feed his wife and child yet,_

_For none would be the wiser._

_Blind Harp went to the palace fair,_

_And played his bit for the King there,_

_For he had ridden his old grey mare,_

_And put her in the stable._

_Blind Harp played clever, sleepy songs,_

_The list'ners fell in tired throngs,_

_All were sleeping before long,_

_When Harp snuck out to stables._

_King's stallion tied to his own horse,_

_And swiftly clearing them a course,_

_Urged them home without much force,_

_Then went back and played at sleeping._

_When Harp awoke the King was mad,_

_With rage so Harp said ''Tis too bad,_

_she was my only horse, begad,_

_And now she has been stolen.'_

_Pity lined the King's hard eyes,_

_Not knowing of his guest's smart plies,_

_And gave blind Harp the size_

_Of the sum of his "stolen" mare three times._

_With thanks Harp set upon his way_

_At home King's horse, and wife they_

_Fed their child with curds and whey_

_Bought with Harper's new-found gold._

_The King knew not that he'd been duped_

_Harp with his plan had proudly swooped_

_With horse and gold and child regrouped_

_And with his wife 'joyed easy life._"

With a short bow, directed at the Prince, Gunter sat down once more.

"What a clever song," the Princess remarked lightly to Prince Leopoldt. The Prince, sitting on her right, did not reply, being locked in a staring contest with his valet.

Gunter finally absconded with a cheeky nod. The red-faced Prince stood, flustered, declaring "We shall ride out again in the morning. It is time to make our way back to Jieburg, my city."

Prince Leopoldt escorted the Princess inside and up to the room where

they had taken their lunch earlier that day, only to find Gunter already there. The Prince pointedly ignored his valet; the Princess smiled weakly at him. Gunter nodded.

"Good night, fair Lady Cat," Prince Leopoldt said, respectfully kissing her hand. "We shall meet again in the morning."

"A good night to you as well, sir," the Princess beamed at him. She went into the bedroom and shut and bolted the door behind her then stretched out on the bed and shut her eyes. A few minutes later, she became acutely aware of the conversation taking place outside her door.

"Why did you have the gall to pull something like that not only in front of my men, but also in front of the girl?" The Prince demanded.

"It was but an innocent song," Gunter said offhandedly. "As boys we laughed about it—you remember as well as I. And," he added coolly, "_I_ am not the one who lied to a lady about my _brother _only being a distant relation."

"Half-brother," the Prince replied tersely. "I have finished discussing the issue with you—besides, she could be listening, but she was fairly tired."

"She wasn't, I hope," Gunter muttered as his half-brother left the room and stomped down the stairs. "I pray she finds the truth in this madness."

The Princess was asleep immediately after. The next morning, the conversation was something imagined—or dreamt.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Thank you to my wonderful reviewers and Beta, Baroness Orc. Enjoy the latest installment!

* * *

The next morning, the Princess woke, refreshed. Her dreams had been a clash of color, people, and feelings, yet nothing had stood out to her to be important enough for her to remember. She was less tired than she had been when she had been on her journey, yet she still felt drained mentally and emotionally. But it was nice to be taken care of by Prince Leopoldt and Gunter; not having to worry about the state of the weather of where her next meal was coming from was a great relief. Still, the Princess was unsure of what would happen to her after the party left the chateau. She would find a way, she was sure. After all, she had come this far on her own.

Once the Princess had nibbled a bit of cold bacon and a biscuit, Prince Leopoldt escorted her to a horse and helped her onto its back.

"And now, fair lady Cat," he had said in fine spirits, "our journey may begin." The Prince leapt onto the back of his own horse and the group set off.

The Princess turned to glance back at the pretty hall set hidden amongst the trees. Her spirit sank to leave it so lonely.

"Pretty, is it not, Lady Cat?" Gunter said softly but with respect. He had ridden up beside her while she was filling her eyes with the last glimses of the chateau.

"I think it is," the Princess smiled whistfully. "How often is it used?"

"A few times a year. I've taken to this little hall."

"I can see why-the view from the windows is lovely," the Princess said, an image of the lake from her dream rising, unbidden. "Even if it lies dormant most of the year, it feels like a home. As soon as you cross the lintel, you feel the laughter and the light there…" Why should she share her thoughts with someone she would never see again? Indeed, why was she riding with these men in the first place?

"Well said indeed," Gunter replied.

"Where are all of you going?" The Princess asked, after agonizing for a moment over whether or not her question was too impertinent.

"All of us?" Gunter said, confusion darkening his brow for a moment. "I assumed you were coming with us. And as far as I may be concerned," Gunter added, lowering his eyes to his horse's mane, "you may come, if you wish."

The Princess was taken aback by this, even though Gunter had seemed most respectful, shy even, about asking her. She had not expected to be invited to come wherever these men were going, let alone given a horse of her own and a proper invitation.

"Well, where exactly are we going then?" the Princess asked brightly.

"Home," Gunther said definitively, then saw the look of confusion on her face. "Back to the palace in Jieburg."

The journey from the chalet back to the palace was a breeze, other than the fact that the Princess was very sore from all of her walking and riding (she knew little of horses). But as it was, the Princess was highly entertained by the Prince and his men. Igor was most adepts at simple slight-of-hand magic tricks, while another, Stravinski, told the most enchanting stories about singing animals and a cat who wore the most cunning boots and managed to marry his master to a princess. Even Gunther was mildly entertaining, although he was still a curmudgeon in comparison with the others.

When they arrived at the palace long after dusk, the princess was given a little room. It was plain, but contained a fine featherbed with an enormous oak headboard. Its windows looked out on the city. The Princess stood for a moment, staring at the bed longingly, before a veritable army of maids came in to give her a bath. Her old clothes were taken away, presumably to be washed and she was clothed in a starkly white nightgown of soft, scratchy linen. Before she could think anymore, the Princess flopped onto the bed and was asleep.

_The Princess was in the garden, stretched out on a bench, dozing in the sunshine. Someone was drawing near, but the Princess was too weary to open her eyes. She was aware of a gentle, callused hand pushing the hair away from her face; a kiss was planted on her brow, causing her to smile. A single caress was left on her cheek before the Prince departed. The Princess woke from her dream wishing she hadn't, yet she still smiled._

After being fed and dressed in a wonderful peacock blue wool dress with lovely pleats in the skirt and an embroidered neckline, the Princess was abandoned for the day. After asking directions from several servants, the Princess found her way to the gardens. She walked among them for a while, staring at the odd flowers and trees that were so robust and hardy, comparing them to the flora in her own country. They were as different as the oak and the olive. Eventually, the Princess found a bench alarmingly similar to the one she had seen in her dream and rested.

It was pleasantly warm, it still being the height of summer, but the Princess guessed it would become hotter as the day progressed. It was very pleasant to sit and stretch and do nothing for she was sore from all of the walking and riding she had been doing. Eventually Igor and Stravinski passed and stopped for a moment to exchange pleasantries, but they were busy doing whatever important errands they had been charged with, and left her alone again far sooner than any of them had wished.

"Good morning to you," Gunther said, attempting a smile. He had just come along the garden path.

"And also to you," the Princess said pertly. "I trust that you are in good health."

"Yes, I mean, good enough that is," he cleared his throat. "Have you been treated well here so far?"

"Yes, very well," the Princess laughed.

"Why are you laughing?" Gunther said, bewildered.

"Because I believe my standards have changed of late," the Princess said, thinking back to her hungry, lonely journey.

"What mean you by this?"

"All I mean is that I now appreciate the value of good plain food and good plain sleep," the Princess smiled ruefully. "It is very nice to be once again part of civilization."

"I see… But if you appreciate the comforts and structures of civility, they why depart you from them? I hope you do not think me too bold, if the purpose of your journey I ask."

"Well," said the Princess, suddenly shy, "I needed it."

"You needed it?" Gunther said, unconvinced.

"Yes, as a matter of fact…Have you ever had the feeling," the Princess asked softly, "that you simply must do something or else you would pine away and perish? Of being trapped into something, perhaps even your own self? I had to get away, to take action. I could not just let life happen to me-you see-I wanted to happen to life."

"So you left home, running away without a chaperone? Without food or money? Did you even leave so much as a note for the ones whom you left? Please tell me that you are not that selfish!"

The distain in his voice left a rock in the pit of her stomach as she realized what she had done. "I didn't leave them a note," she said in a small voice, as tears sprang to her eyes. She had never even thought to let anyone else know what she was doing.

"Erm, please don't cry," Gunther said helplessly. He knelt before the bench, gingerly taking her hand. His hand that she had hurt with her iron pen was still wrapped in a linen bandage. The sight of it only made her cry harder. He dug in his pockets with his remaining hand. "Damn me if I have a handkerchief."

No one had ever sworn in her presence either. The Princess was sobbing full on now, slightly astonished at herself for doing so.

"I am sorry," Gunther said, once her tears had died down a little. "I did not mean it when I called you selfish. Please don't cry anymore," he added desperately. "I know better than anyone what it is like to be trapped. Everything shall work itself out."

The Princess sniffled, squeezing his hand. To his credit, Gunther barely flinched, just took in a sharp breath.

"Oh, dear, I am so sorry," the Princess said. "Did I hurt you that badly?"

Gunther shrugged, which the Princess took for a manly way of saying 'yes.'

"I truly am sorry about it-I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It is all right," Gunther said gruffly. "You were alone, and terrified, and had almost been hurt yourself. How were you to know? Don't cry _again_," Gunther pleaded.

But the Princess couldn't help it.

"Good morning, fair lady Cat," the Prince said with his usual exuberance as he approached. "But, pray, what is the matter?" He added gently, coming closer.

"I am fine," the Princess sniffled unconvincingly.

"You act well enough to be in one of the traveling player's shows in the square," the Prince jested. "You do not happen to be an actress, are you?"

"No," the Princess said, chuckling at the idea of her being an actress.

"Now, why was Gunther here reducing such a merry maid as yourself to tears?" Producing a handkerchief, the Prince took a seat next to her on the bench, scooting past Gunther, who was still kneeling before the Princess.

"The fault was not his," the Princess said ruefully.

"Yet if he had not been here, your tears would not have been unleashed," the Prince said sympathetically.

"That is true…"

"Again, Cat, or whatever your name would be, I am most sorry for my harsh words," Gunther said stiffly.

"Let it alone," Prince Leopoldt said archly. "Let me take care of this, per usual."

Without a word, Gunther rose to leave, making a short bow to her.

"You intended no hurt," the Princess called to him, trying to erase the world of hurt from Gunther's face. "I pardon you."

Gunther only increased his speed, nearly running away from the pair seated on the bench.

"Now what has Gunther said to you that offended?" the Prince asked gently.

"It did not offend," the Princess insisted. "He simply brought to my attention a matter which I had…overlooked." She attempted a slight smile which was more like a grimace.

"Do not hold it against him," the Prince shrugged. "Gunther may be a bright and shining example of one of the King's wardens, but he has not a gentleman's way with words. But enough with the unpleasantries of moments past," he sprang to his feet, offering his hand, "let us be merry for we know not what tomorrow holds. Would you care for a tour of the gardens?"

"Oh yes, please," the Princess said, taking one last wipe at her eyes. "That would be delightful, especially when accompanied by a guide as charming as yourself."

"High praise indeed, coming from one so fair."

And so they walked, reveling in the summer's bright morning.


End file.
